Eternal Recurrence
by chrysanths
Summary: Dark!PeggySue!Harry, suicide, Abuse!Dursley, drabble. Harry shares a 'familiar' chat with Snape concerning his own mortality - or rather, lack thereof.


Note: Harry Potter belongs to Rowling. I own nothing sans my own inner demons and a keyboard.

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"I killed myself again, Professor."

He spoke that so nonchalantly too, laying there on Severus's couch like he always did when he was in one of his "moods". The Potions Master gave a subtle indication of noticing something more than the print of his hardcover Muggle novel - Doyle, he was particularly fond of his works - and looked back down.

"You know, Potter, perhaps Dumbledore or your Head of House would be better for this little 'venting' of yours. Heaven knows how I've stood these little talks about your 'past lives' as you called them, for so long."

Obsidian eyes stared down at the small teen, never meeting his emerald. Never desiring to, at the least.

"You've never understood the other times I've told you this. Each lifetime, in fact." The boy spoke once more, his voice and mannerisms giving away nary any emotions which might have lurked under his calm exterior.

A long stretch of silence permeated the air.

"I used an Unforgivable last time."

Snape found himself choking on air. It lasted but a few seconds before the mast re-emerged.

"The killing curse. I was assuming my self-loathing would perhaps provide an end to my misery. The soul completely leaving the body - perfect death in a nutshell."

"...Did you succeed?" The man found himself silently humoring the boy. Potter was obviously still alive, still the elusive thorn prickling into his side, still the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Attract-Trouble...

"Of course I did. My soul departed the flesh, and once more, I found myself staring up at the roof of my cupboard. Reborn into my five-year-old self, in fact. Just like usual."

_His cupboard?_ Snape could hardly admit Petuna was the affectionate sort, not with her condemnation of all sorts magic, but abuse? Not likely. Perhaps another twisted - but false - machination from the boy. Wild imagination at work.

"You commit suicide often then?"

A twisted smile graced the boys lips and, with novel forgotten, Snape looked up and into those eyes. Lily's eyes, Lily's evergreen eyes, stared back into his. Bored into his obsidian orbs and in an instant, Snape was back to his distraction.

"I've turned it into a game after awhile. Thinking of new and interesting ways to die. The time before last I covered myself in raw meat and ran into the third floor corridor to 'play' with Fluffy." A weak chuckle escaped the boys lips. "I never made it until the end of first year that time."

"Yes, Hagrid does have an interesting taste in naming his...pets." Snape refused to acknowledge the rest of that admittance.

"Perhaps I should write a book on it: the best and most creative ways one might kill themselves with common first year spells."

"Perhaps you should."

"I think I will then. Perhaps next lifetime. Although I do wonder sometimes..."

There was a slight edge in Snape's voice as he replied. "Wondered about what, Potter?"

"Why I keep returning to life. The soul is a resilient thing you know - immortal in it's entirety, but far too fragile for it's own good. Riddle is most likely aware of that now, in fact."

_Voldemort._

"What makes you so sure of that?"

"The horcruxes. It's still within me, you know, that piece of his soul. Festering away at my insides as the death counts rise. I can never seem to shake it off somehow. With each suicide, I find it's chipping away at myself instead. I wonder how long it will take until the remaining bit of soul within my body is no longer mine?"

"Personally, Potter, I think you've drank one too many Butterbeers. You're obviously out of sort's about Sirius's death and I can no doubt understand Dumbledore's need for you to speak to someone, but this is a bit much. I've heard better tales from the first year Hufflepuffs."

Snape's lips curled into his customary sneer. It was obvious the sixteen year old was grating on his last nerves.

"You know, what was what you told me last time too."

His distaste at the boy's response was evident and he glanced at the clock to his left. "Eleven, Potter. Your time here is up. Get out. If I catch you lingering in the halls, I won't hesitate to give you detention."

The boy was hesitant as he found his annoyed teacher ushering him out into the hallway which housed Snape's personal chambers.

"Professor."

"What is it?"

Another silence.

"Do you think I keep returning to that age because it was the first time I died?"

The door closed with a slam.

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Authors Notes: For some strange reason, I wanted to see a conversation between Snape and a Dark!PeggySue!Harry for quite some time now and my twisted mind created...this.

Honestly, this scenario was completely different in my head. Less morbid, to be honest. Anyways, reviews are appreciated. Kay, thanks, bye.


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